Welcome to our classroom blog. We will use this as our tool to post writings and hold discussions. It will aid us in becoming better writers and thinkers as we journey through this year's literature experience.

I find that mandatory military service can be good or bad. In the case of World War II, it was a good idea. The war was not looking good for the Allies, and we needed more support. Also, World War II was a war in which the United States had been attacked and were fighting for themselves. Vietnam, however, did not have much to do with the U.S. We went in to help stop the spread of Communism and to help South Vietnam. This seems unfair to force Americans to fight another man's war. I agree that the spread of Communism could be a bad thing for the United States in the long run, but not directly, so we should have looked to others for help before drafting our own men.

I carry a ring. This ring has a peridot stone in a martini setting surrounded by tiny diamonds on either side. This ring is my birthstone ring, and has a deep sentimental value to me. My mother gave it to me for my 15th birthday, and she spent weeks searching stores for the perfect one. She wanted it to be beautiful and unique, and that is exactly what it is. Money has gotten tight, and at times selling the ring would solve many problems, yet I know that my mom would never even consider it. THis is just one of the many sacrifices she makes for me. When I look at it, i do not just see a ring. I see a mother's love, my old-fashioned style, and a part of myself. It is both me and mom's souls intertwined. It is us.

It is the year 1961. President Kennedy has decided to send U.S. troops into South Vietnam to help the fight against Communism. The Vietcong-- the North Vietnamese Communist army-- was attempting an assassination attempt and Communist takeover, and Kennedy decided it would be best to stop it before it spread to greater lands. As the years progressed, the war effort began lacking more and more. Diem, the leader of South Vietnam was assassinated, and weeks later Kennedy was assassinated as well. In December of 1969, Nixon initiated the first war draft since 1942. The lottery was held at the Selective Service National Headquarters in Washington, D.C., and consisted of the drawing of blue capsules containing birth dates. If a person's birthday was drawn and they were between the ages of 18-26, they were drafted. For those who had the same birthday, there was an elaborate alphabetical system deciding the order of choice by last name. It is in this way that many American young men were sent packing from their homes to the deadly battlefield that was Vietnam.

"Welcome to Paradisia. A place of peace, a place of goodness." That is what the gleaming white sign perched at the entrance of the city reads. Lately I've been questioning these words. Every city has the same sign, only different city names. Euphoria, Celestia, Ambrosia... if every city is perfect, does perfection not lose it's meaning? My ancestors lived in a world of war and destruction. There was conflict, crime, and disagreement. The authorities drill stories of this lost land into children's heads to scare them. To most, these stories are terrifying. People stay awake all hours of the night wondering if a world of rape, theft, and murder is capable of recreating itself. Me? I almost wish it would. Excitement to end the boring days of Paradisia. If only this excitement was possible. Somehow, genetics have reversed themselves since those dark days. Instead of purity being learned, it is born unto every human. We have superb consciences, and wickedness seems merely impossible.

These thoughts trickled through my mind as I strolled through the freshly cut grass on a perfect Saturday morning. Suddenly, the world went black. I don't know how long I was out. Maybe ten minutes, or an hour, but when I awoke, I knew things would never be the same. Looking around, I noticed a large gathering of people nearby at the opening of the woods. When I approached, the world seemed to disappear, save for the ghastly image of a woman in red. Blood seemed to seep from her every pore. Within a matter of ten minutes, the entire world was aware of this tragedy. This was the first death due to a cause other than old age in over ten thousand years. The worst part? There was no doubt in anyone's mind that it was murder. Taken with shock and dismay, I began sprinting back to my beautiful one room apartment. Not too big, but not too small... perfect. Once inside, my brightly colored walls began to spin. As soon as the door shut behind me, I hit the floor, but instantaneously I was back on my feet. I began wondering what was wrong with me. What misstep in the universe was causing the perfection I had grown so accustomed to crumbling to pieces? Over the next week, the blackouts continued. The crime rate began growing exponentially.

Finally, one day, I awoke atop a large building. Standing at the edge, an omniscience washed upon me, and I was suddenly aware that I was the one causing the crime. My blackouts were simply me choosing not to remember my wrongdoings. This knowledge surprised me, and yet I was not disgusted with myself. Slowly, I tiptoed to the edge of the building, and within seconds I was flying. I soared and flipped, singing out to the world below me. After what seemed like a lifetime, there was a crash, cracking, darkness. Finally, I did not question my happiness.

I love my friends, spend plenty of hours at dancing every week, and allow homework to consume my life every now and then.
"For me, writing is exploration; and most of the time, I'm surprised where the journey takes me."
-Jack Dann